Art by Kirsten Hemrich

She raised the tequila to her lips and tilted her head back. It would take some time for the confidence to set in, so she waited.

“I have a paper due tomorrow. I don’t really give a shit. I’m going to wake up early to finish up my conclusion,” said the guy standing next to her at the bar. He had bought her the shots, roping her into a conversation she had no desire to be apart of.

Let's talk about spirit. In 1991, Nirvana reminded us that it “Smells like Teen Spirit” and since then things have never been the same. Actually, I’m not really sure if that song changed how society viewed spirit, especially because the song wasn’t particularly spirited, just really angsty, but nevertheless, still a bop. But let’s get back to spirit. Spirits, spirituality, team spirit, the spirit of who we once were and the spirit of who we hope to be. October is an incredibly haunting month.

I was at a sleepover for my best friend’s birthday party when I saw my first and last scary movie. It was Orphan, and afterward I had to lie on an uncomfortable couch and try to fall asleep. I knew I never wanted to watch anything like that again.

In an old gym with wooden bleachers, a high school girls varsity basketball team plays their heart out in a game against a longtime rival. The bleachers are half empty, but the fans and parents fill the echoing room with enough enthusiastic cries that the space feels full. This game is important to the girls in a way that only athletes can understand.

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She slithers in through the window along with the breeze. The air that was once fresh becomes rancid and noxious. Fumes of anxiety and self-doubt twist and hang in the air. “You should Google your symptoms,” she whispers, her voice soft and soothing. “It will help.” She strokes my arm lovingly and curls against my chest.